


break me on this lonely road

by smallbeans



Series: the fall down [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Helps Stiles, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Forgotten Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Runaway Stiles, Stiles-centric, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: The last person Derek expected to be knocking on his door at ass-o'clock was Stiles.Or, Stiles runs away to Derek after everyone forgets him and before the Ghost Riders can take him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Season 6 sucked without Derek (just like every other season without the presence of thy sour wolf) and I decided to change it. This was written at 3:30 in the morning when I couldn't sleep and was spending too long looking up season 6 spoilers on tumblr.
> 
> Title: Big Picture by London Grammar.

"Now, why don't you tell me your name,"

"Do we even know him?"

"I don't even know if he goes here,"

"Who is this?"

"Who's Stiles?"

It was his biggest nightmare come true. It was like his mum all over again, forgetting him. He didn't exist, he wasn't real, no one remembered him. 

He'd never run so fast in his life. Stumbling out the school doors, feet barely underneath him as he pelted towards the jeep. His heart was hammering, hands shaking to oblivion. He barely had a grip on his keys as he jammed then into the door lock and flung the drivers door open, climbing inside as a mass of heavy and uncoordinated limbs. He reversed out of the school parking lot so fast he's sure he left tred-marks on the pavement.

He drove, fast and careless. The roads were quiet as it was the middle of the day and in a small town like Beacon Hills, everyone was at work or school. Stiles was about to pull down his road, until he realised that he can't go home. He doesn't have a home, he doesn't have identity. His fath— the sheriff, would have his ass in jail the moment he tried to picklock his way in.

Stiles doesn't know what time he drove past the Beacon Hills boundary line, but he sure as hell didn't look back.

*

It had been a long time since Derek was woken up at ass-o'clock by someone knocking at the door. He was snapped out his sleep by the sound of knuckles rasping against the front door of his minuscule apartment. He didn't open his eyes at first, just laid there frozen stiff, mentally urging whoever the asshole was to go away and leave him alone.

They kept knocking, the bangs getting more frequent. Derek threw the covers back and got up, slipping on a pair of sweatpants. He spared a glance at his bedside clock, scowling at the flashing 3:47 AM. Whoever was at the door was going to get their ass kicked to the curb, Derek decided.

He took his time exiting his bedroom and crossing the living room to the front door, and in that time, the knocks became slower, somehow softer. The vibrations didn't run as far, as if the person was physically leaning on the door and half silencing them. For a moment, Derek considered going back to bed and ignoring them until they turned away, but then he heard a sob.

Something inside his chest snapped, and before he knew what he was doing, he had launched across the room and flown the door open.

Stiles was the last person he expected to see on the other side of the door.

Except, it wasn't the Stiles he remembered. The teen in front of him, with his hood pulled up and eyes wide with shock - seriously, he was the one knocking on Derek's door - and Derek didn't know how to react.

"Stiles?" He asked, finding it hard to believe what was in front of him. He hadn't heard from anyone from Beacon Hills in months. The last thing he heard was from Scott, and it was only a small message saying how the summer had been eventless and they were going into senior year.

"I-I'm. . ." Stiles choked, and Derek was taken back at how raspy and broken his voice sounded. He shouldn't have beens so surprised though, because Stiles sounded as bad as he looked. From under the hood, Derek could see the unhealthy stark white pallor of his skin, the purple half moons bruising in evidence of his sleepless nights. His cheek bones were sharper, cheeks hollow like the dead look in his eyes.

"Stiles. . ." Derek started again, but he simply felt lost for words. He was up now, at the crack of day, standing at his front door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and staring at a teenage boy who could be classed as a homeless orphan. Oh, wait—

"I-I'm sorry," Stiles stammered before Derek could finish the thought. "I d-didn't know where-where else to g-go."

Derek had never been one for pitying people, or feeling much sympathy for them, but the sigh of Stiles, swaying with exhaustion and looking like he hadn't eaten a decent meal or had a proper night sleep in months, made his heart clench. The brutal smells of misery, depression and sadness wafted off Stiles like a tornado of darkness, burning Derek's hypersensitive nose.

"It's okay," Derek said, because really, it was. "Just. . . come inside, okay?"

Stiles nodded and shuffled in when Derek opened the door wider. His hunched shoulders and arms curled around his trembling frame made him look impossibly small.

When Derek shut the door and turned back to him, Stiles was standing in the middle of the living room, looking around. Derek felt a sudden swirl of self-consciousness at the guest - it had been a while since anyone but Braeden had visited, and even that was months ago before she went off hunting the Desert Wolf. Derek hadn't heard from her since the day she texted to tell him it was done, not giving any hint as to where she was going or what she was doing now - and Derek didn't ask.

"Stiles," Derek said after a moment of watching him, swaying in the middle of the room.

Stiles spun around, and ultimately lost his balance. He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before he toppled on to the wooden coffee table. Derek had lurched forward when he saw the first jolt of his legs giving out, reaching for him in caution. Derek was holding Stiles up by the shoulders, but the later wasn't looking at him. His eyes were staring off into space

"What's going on, Stiles?" Derek asked, this time his voice was more stern. He needed answers, and he needed them now. 

"They don't. . . they don't remember me," Stiles whispered, so quiet Derek barley heard him. His eyes slowly dragged towards Derek's, the cinnamon eyes filled with so much pain and sadness it physically hurt Derek. "No one remembers me."

"What are you talking about?" Derek frowned. "Who doesn't remember you, Stiles?"

"Everyone," Stiles murmured, and then his eyes filled with tears suddenly. His body shuddering as a sob escaped his mouth. "No one— no one remembers who I am. But y-you do, how. . . why do you remember?"

"Stiles, I don't know what—"

"I-I didn't e-even get to explain to S-S-Scott w-what was going o-on," Stiles cried, tears running down his hollow cheeks. "He just f-forgot me. My dad forgot me."

Derek had never felt so conflicted. He wanted to know what was going on, but at the same time he needed to calm Stiles down before the poor kid gave himself a panic attack. With gentle nudges, he guided Stiles so he was sitting down on the couch, hunched forward still as if he could make himself smaller. He was still sobbing, choking on hiccuped breaths.

Derek crouched down in front of him, looking directly into the teens eyes that looked so horribly far away. "Stiles," Derek said, but his word was gone in the air. Stiles barely reacted to it. Derek gently grabbed Stiles by the chin, leading his face so he was looking at Derek. "Look at me, Stiles. Calm down. You're okay, alright? You're fine, no one's going to hurt you here."

"T-T-They don't remember," Stiles sobbed, finally cracking. He curled in on himself even more, and Derek simply couldn't stand it. He straightened up and pulled Stiles into his chest, wrapping his arms around him completely. He rubbed one hand up and down the teens back, palm running over the knobs of his spine while the other hand smoothed through the hairs on the back of his neck. He rocked gently just like is mother had done when he was a child and in hysterics, resting his cheek in the messy matt of Stiles' hair - which had grown, Derek noted. A lot about Stiles had grown, physically and emotionally.

"You're okay," Derek whispered, voice gentle and soft. "You're okay, Stiles. Breath, you're gonna be fine."

The trembles died down and the normal breaking returned. When it did, Derek didn't pull back. Stiles was still sniffing against his chest, hands curled into his shirt and gripping hard like a life line. 

"Stiles?"

The teen hummed in reply. 

"I need you to tell me everything."

*

By the time Stiles was done, dawn had broken out into Derek's apartment. It had taken all night for Stiles to be calm enough to explain the horror of the last year in Beacon Hills. Derek was in shock, to put it simply. From new chimeras, to Dread Doctors, to Beasts and now Ghost Riders, it was a miracle Stiles had made it to New York.

But it made sense now. It all came together as to why Stiles had turned up at his door step in hysterics. Derek was split between being angry, surprised and in awe that Stiles hadn't come earlier considering living in Beacon Hills in the last year had been hell.

The more Stiles had explained about what happened, going from how Scott trusted someone new over him, how he'd been burdened and scarred with the devil of killing someone, how he'd almost lost his father and Scott in the course of one night, the more the wolf inside Derek was harder to control. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Stiles now and never let him leave. To protect him from anything and everything outside the apartment door. He couldn't do that, though, and Derek knew that. Stiles needed to go back, to put things right and fix what had happened. He needed to be remembered, he couldn't live without it.

Derek sighed through his nose, bracing himself before saying, "Stiles, you know you need to go back."

Stiles looked up so sharply Derek was certain he'd get whiplash. The look of betrayal on Stiles' face was enough to make Derek regret the words instantly, only then realising how bad and accusing he sounded. 

"Y-You're. . ." Stiles began, tears welling in his eyes. He looked impossibly fragile, sitting on Derek's sofa, so far from home, physically and emotionally. 

"No, no, Stiles, I didn't mean it like that," Derek said hastily, getting up off the opposite chair and crossing the room to crouch in front of the teen that had started trembling again. "You're going home, but I'm going to come wit you and we're going to sort this out. Okay? You're doing to be fine, we're going to figure this out and everyone is going to remember you. I won't let them take you, Stiles."

Stiles nodded, worrying his lower lip. His eyes were still sunken and red, but they no longer held tears. So Derek counted that as a win.

"You're gonna sleep here tonight, okay? We're gonna figure out a plan tomorrow and head back to Beacon Hills,"

"I don't mean to intrude. . ." Stiles started, and it was obvious he was only saying it to be polite, because Derek could see clear as day how hurt and terrified the teen was and he knew that Stiles would be crushed if he kicked him out now. Not that Derek was going to, or even thought about doing it because Stiles needed him and hell, Derek owed him a place to sleep after all the times Stiles had had his back. 

"It's fine," Derek said simply. "You shouldn't sleep on the couch though, it's not very comfy and you look like you haven't had a good nights sleep in months."

Now, Stiles looked even more nervous. "Where else-?"

"The bed," Derek said, not thinking twice. "Come on. Up. You're dead on your feet."

"But-"

"Stiles, if you want I'll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed," Derek said, holding back the exasperated sigh. He knew Stiles wasn't doing this on purpose, he felt out of place and hurt and he had every right to be cautious. Derek didn't really think about how much this was probably confusing Stiles.

"No, I can't kick you out of your own bed, I'm not that much of an asshole," Stiles rushed.

"Good, now come on," Derek said.

Stiles must have been more exhausted that he looked as as soon as he was changed (into some of Derek's sweatpants and a t-shirt that teasingly hung off his shoulders), he dropped down on the bed and was asleep before Derek made it back from the bathroom. And if Derek tucked the teen in, making sure he was completely covered by the comforter, then that was Derek's own information. 

Tomorrow, Derek will fix this. Stiles was going to be okay, he promised as he curled protectively around the teens back.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos and comments if you'd like (:
> 
> tumblr: whistledylan  
> wattpad: stilesroden


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